Wilderness in the Anthropocene: What Backpacking for 10 Days in the Cascades Taught Me

Blog Entry: Day 6

Thursday, back to Larch Knob: Anaëlle Enders 

7.26.24

Our starting point for the day and turnaround point for the hike was Lower Lyman Lake. The sun rose and cast a gentle light on us as we struggled out of our tents, visited the outhouse (a wooden toilet in the woods poised over a deep hole), and munched on granola. I knew today was going to be a long one. Since our whole crew had descended into the valley before, we knew how steep the trek was going to be to get back up to Spider Gap and Larch Knob, our camping site for the night. We woke up extra early (4:30am instead of the usual 5am!) so that we could avoid the hours when the sun was the strongest. To start the day off right, we had a dance and beatbox circle and then got on the trail. 

The waterfalls surrounding Larch Knob gradually multiplied throughout the day with the hot sun. The heat wave was doing its work. Thankfully, we had no shortage of rushing water. We refilled our water bottles with Sawyer filters and iodine tablets whenever we needed with cold snowmelt water. One thing we learned to watch out for when hiking on packed snow is that there are a lot of ways the snow can be melted from underneath, making it unsafe for walking. Rocks heat up faster in the sun, so snow around them is weaker. Also, the waterfalls often flow underneath the snow and erode it, so we had to watch out not to hike close to snow that had waterfalls near it. 

A tip for making the upwards climb go faster: sing! Armed with my karaoke playlist and a lot of willing singers (and some unwilling ones), we side-stepped up the icy snow, zig-zagging and carefully placing our feet exactly in the footprints of the person ahead of us to make snow stairs.

Finally, we reached the top. The view from Spider Gap was still as stunning as the first time. We could see Lyman glacier, the glacier that had carved the entire valley that is now almost completely gone due to climate change. Comparing even with pictures from the 1980’s, the shrinkage was immense. What once was a vast field of snow and ice that led straight to the glacier was now rock and heather. I can’t help but wish I could have seen the glacier earlier. Yet I feel lucky to have seen it before it is completely gone. Maybe people in the coming years will wish the same as me. 

It was also from our viewpoint that we could see what Claire Giordano, our resident artist and volunteer leader, captured in the strokes of her watercolor painting of the entire mountain range. She had painted a panorama the day before from our hike to Cloudy Pass with a view of Glacier Peak. The striking red, purple, and gray rock of the mountains contrasted with the bright white snow against the cloudless blue sky. Shadows lead the eye into the surprising green carpeting the Spider Meadow valley, almost fluorescent, fringed by darker green coniferous trees. 

Now my favorite part: Glissading! Glissading is a mountaineering and alpine climbing technique where you slide down a snow or ice slope as a faster way to get down the mountains. It’s like sledding except without the sled! Holding an ice ax diagonally across my lap, my heavy pack on my back, I slid down the slopes. We took turns glissading and cheering each other on. Here’s my sketch of how cool I felt after glissading that day: 

Fully covered from the sun and mosquitoes, my with me, hiking poles in my hands and ice ax in my pack, I felt like I could take on anything. 

At last we reached our destination, the familiar Larch Knob. Setting up camp this time, I felt more sentimental, knowing we would have only one more night after this. I was finally used to carrying a pack on my back and my feet no longer rubbed in my boots. I could set up a tent now and knew how to stay hydrated. Being comfortable with these aspects of living in the wilderness made it easier to be present with friends on the trail, wonder about specific plant species, share life stories, and play games like “guess what movie this quote is from”. Our dinner and evening discussions led by Bill, Nancy, and Shriya were accompanied by a strong breeze which drove out mosquitoes. Yay! We crouched around in a circle, sitting on our bear cans and made plans to wake up at 1am and stargaze together. It had been a long day but I was surprised at how quickly it went by. It wasn’t just my backpacking abilities and walking feet that got me there, but a team effort that led us to appreciate, observe, and live with the wilderness around us. 

TASK 2: 

As part of my Ad-Hoc Honors project to complete a nature journal throughout the trip, I had the privilege of getting to tag alongside Claire as she painted. I heard about Claire’s work before the trip and was so excited at the possibility of having an art mentor. Claire teaches watercolor classes and so easily explains how to capture the personality of a tree, and allow the colors to blend together in rocks. One thing she emphasized was that practicing creativity doesn’t mean anything has to be perfect or precisely accurate, saying, “This is a record of your fascination! If you want an exact replica of the mountains, take a picture.” I felt like that freed me from expectations of perfection in my art as I practiced painting. 

As someone without formal training in art, the thought of painting every day was so intimidating! I caught myself more than several times on the trip feeling anxious as I stared at the blank page of my watercolor journal and wondered how to fill it. But then I reminded myself that nothing has to be perfect, and it is simply a record of my fascination. 

When we were able to hike to Cloudy Pass from Lower Lyman Lake on day 5, it was my first time to see the famed Glacier Peak! It was even more covered with snow than I had imagined. The hike up wasn’t too difficult. Tim’s whistle apparently sounds like a marmot, so we saw several standing at attention, guarding their hills. As our hiking group stared at the peak in a distance, Tim pointed out Cool Glacier and Chalk Glacier that sculpted the sides. Funny enough, but I hadn’t even brought my painting supplies with me, only a light water bag on my back and a snack. Tim had the foresight to bring an extra watercolor set, so I borrowed his and got to work while the rest of the crew ate lunch. I’m so glad that Tim brought his watercolor set because I think this painting is the one I like the most of the mountain paintings I did. When I see it, I can transport myself back to that exact moment on Cloudy Pass. I remember how fascinated I am by Glacier Peak, the sloping valley, and I remember that the mountain range goes on. It’s easy to forget that there’s actually more mountains beyond us when we’re in the valley and can’t see beyond the red and purple range surrounding us. This is a reminder of my smallness in the vast expanse of nature. And when I look at it here, back in Seattle, I know that the mountain is still there, the ecosystems are still in cycle, the marmots are still popping up out of their dugout homes.

TASK 3: 

Something I noticed from our journey is that when confronted by a majestic and sweeping landscape, it’s a lot harder to be self-absorbed or caught in the worries of life. Our city life is individualistic. “Get your assignments done. Find a job to make your money. Stay on top of your schedule.” Being away from screens takes away all the noise of life. For me it was such a relief to be out of contact. My phone battery lasted so much longer being on airplane mode the whole time, and I felt like my personal battery lasted so much longer too. I had more energy to be present with people in conversations, I could observe with more alertness, and I had more patience and determination to persevere. 

Before this trip, I hadn’t been backpacking for more than one night. I wouldn’t know how to look up a trail, know how to plan for my food, or do a number of things that helped keep us safe and energized. For me and for many others, to be able to look down a slope that I just climbed gave me an unbelievable sense of giddiness. I had never done anything like that before! I didn’t know I could! Too often I stay in the limits of what I think I can do rather than believing and risking a crash-landing failure. This trip offered more of a safety net knowing that we can take care of each other, which gave me the courage to do things that were harder, like taking on extra weight in my pack for the group and hiking faster when needed. 

Our nightly discussions struck me as a unique and impactful exchange of ideas.  One example is when Shriya led us on the Romanticization of Nature. We all seemed to have a spectrum of different opinions, yet it felt like a window into another world for me when I learned about Shriya’s love of 20th-century American novelist Ernest Hemingway. I have never read this author before and from what I know I would differ with a lot of his ways of seeing the world. However, through the conversation I felt able to step out of my own shoes and appreciate the walk in another’s. 

When we all gathered together for the final discussion, I resonated with what Kaija brought up about appreciating the feeling of smallness. Individualism often reigns in the fast-paced life of Seattle, but here it doesn’t. Here, the waterfalls flow, we go to sleep with the sun, and there are no screens to keep us from noticing the pikas scramble over the rocks. The mountains feel big and wise, sustainers of the life bursting from it. When I see the mountains and the stars, I can’t help but feel small. 

Still, the anthropocene is evident. It was on the 6th day from Larch knob that I could see a visible difference in the skyline before and after we climbed. The second time, there was a haze settling over the mountains. Our lungs felt the difference. Fires in the Chelan area were blowing over. We learned after our trip that fires have since closed down both the Trinity and Phelps Creek trailheads. We were very lucky to have made it when we did, in the small window unaffected by fires. 

Thinking ahead to the generations that will follow us, I believe one of the purposes of wilderness is to show people that there is nature bigger and wilder and more powerful than themselves. Often in our bubbles of climate-controlled environments, it’s good for humans to feel the forces of nature. Humility is found in realizing that we are human and need shelter, food, water, and community like anyone else. Simplicity can help us remember what our core values are and to pursue them when things are not so simple in life.

Getting to meet the forest service rangers who volunteer in the area helped me think about the longevity of the wilderness. Clearly, for wilderness to maintain its “untrammeled” status requires a good deal of management and service. They spoke about how people have gotten better over the years at dealing with trash (they used to find burned cans in firepits) and there are still issues with people not knowing how to not leave a trace when in the wilderness. It was a surprise to hear about how many people don’t dig a hole when they relieve themselves in the woods. 

My hope is that people will get better at respecting the spaces and wildlife, especially as they learn how crucial it is for the wellbeing of both humans and nature. Getting to research nature’s impact on the brain psychologically has left me wondering why it isn’t more mandatory for schools to take kids on nature trips, even around the city. I’ve found myself trying to find more time to be outside, appreciating green spaces all the more because of our trip’s impact on me. My friends can testify to the times I’ve talked about how even proximity to a green space, like a park, reduces risk of physical ailments such as heart disease. 

For the future of wilderness to continue, I believe people need to be better educated on how to honor wilderness spaces, and how the nature at home needs to be honored just as much.  Cronon’s article about how the tree in the backyard is just as worthy, has just as many stories as the tree in the wilderness is one huge takeaway for me. 

I’ll leave off with a few lines of a poem I wrote while on the trail: 

I floated in the freezing glacial melt today 

Allowed to rest, enjoy, and grow 

Instead of university housing, 

I’m surrounded by tall, swooping mountain cliffs 

The boat-trafficked waters of Seattle 

Are foreign to this alpine lake 

They seem so different, 

but there is no divide between these mountains and our hills at home. 

How can I honor and care for the nature in both places?

Stepping stones, rough, uncut

Lead the way to cross this river 

I take care where I place my feet

A delicate dance between me and the frigid waters

I’m a rough, off-balanced excuse for a partner 

I accidentally step on green buds poking out of the rock

My heavy pack threatening to tip me like a domino 

But nature has proven forgiving 

I stop

Trying to get to my destination

Trying to control the elements for my decisions

And find

Surprising resilience

A good and generous teacher, 

If I’m willing to listen 

And dance along